Mycroft's Pain
by mistressofwhump
Summary: When faced with a traumatic experience, Mycroft turns to his brother and John for help. A part of him wants to reveal the truth, but the shame is too overwhelming. During the investigation Sherlock and John begin to suspect the truth. Will they help Mycroft, or will he fall into depression and self destruction? Trigger Warning: Flashbacks to rape, self harm, sorry for OOC
1. Chapter 1

"I have another case for you, brother mine." Mycroft held out a case file, waiting for Sherlock to take it. Mycroft sighed impatiently, leaning heavily on his umbrella.

"Can't, completely swamped with cases, another time,brother mine." He snarled the last word out, as he picked up his violin.

"Sherlock! We have no cases." John said sitting up from the desk, he just finished writing up the last case onto his blog."The hounds of Baskerville." He named it.

"He-" Sherlock points of his brother." Doesn't need to know that!" Sherlock tosses a glare at John, who rolls his eyes.

"I knew you were lying, brother mine. Did you really think I couldn't tell? Now please take the case… The victim asked for your assistance." If Sherlock had been paying any attention to his brother, he wouldn't have noticed his obvious lie, but he wasn't. In an attempt to get His brother's attention, Mycroft waved the fold in front of Sherlock, who looked up at it and scoffed. John noticing Sherlock's refusal to take the folder, walks over and grabs it, thus he received another glare. John opens the folder and begins to read its content.

"Thank you, John. As always you're a big help." Now Sherlock is glaring at his brother.

"Oh please Sherlock enough with the glaring, you'll strain your eyes." He sarcastically stated.

"Mycroft, not to be rude or seem insensitive, but why are you giving us a case on a recent rape?" Peaking Sherlock's interest he steps back to stand next to John, peering at the content of the folder. After a few minutes they both look up at Mycroft.

"Who's the victim of this crime? No name is stated."

"That's confidential." Mycroft looked away and stared at the floor, he prayed Sherlock would not start hounding him with questions.

"Member of the royal family? Or perhaps someone in the secret service?"

"Not at liberty to say." Mycroft looked back up, meeting Sherlock's eyes.

Sherlock, now intrigued with the conversation stood up, and

studied his brother, and of course picked up on the fact, that Mycroft was leaning more heavily on his umbrella, then he normally does.

"And you can't get the local police involved? You want to keep this private?"

"As private as possible." Mycroft leaned on his umbrella more, favouring his right side."Please do be careful, the criminals are very strong..." Sherlock was concerned, but made no comment.

"Of course... It would help if we could meet with the victim-"

"You have all the information you need in that folder." Mycroft cut off his brother, he didn't want to be questioned further, naturally Sherlock kept going.

"But-"

"No."

"But, My-"

"I said no!" Mycroft shouted. Both Sherlock and John looked shocked at Mycroft's sudden tightened his grip on his umbrella causing his knuckles to turn white. The flat was silent for a moment.

"The recount... Of what the rapists..."Mycroft hissed out the word rapists, the struggle to say that word was clear, Sherlock picked up on this, but said nothing,"did is all in that folder, there is no need to question the victim, now are you taking the case or not?" Before Sherlock could reply, John spoke for the both of them.

"Yes, we are thank you for bring this to us, Mycroft. We will find the bloody bastard who did this."

"Notify me when you do." With that, Mycroft swiftly turned on his heel and made his way out the door.

"Bye dear!" Mrs. Hudson yelled as, Mycroft rushed out of the flat. " Well that was odd, I've never seen him get upset like that before."

"My brother is not the type to outburst, he never does that, there must be a reason why… I'm going to find out." Sherlock took a seat, crossed his legs then began to ponder, his chin resting in his hands.

"Sherlock, please tell me you're not trying to figure out a way to manipulate your brother into giving away more information? Okay, it would help to talk with the victim, but the poor guy is traumatized, maybe it's best not to look further into this. This situation clearly upset him, so don't pester him about this alright?" When Sherlock gave no reply, John realized he had not heard a single word he said. "Sherlock, Sherlock!" Still no response.

"Sorry dear, he's gone into his, ohh what does he call it? Hmm mind palace. Won't be getting a response from him in quite a while. Mrs. Hudson, placed down her tea, and walked over to John, giving his right shoulder a squeeze.

"In that case, I'll go to to Sherlock's homeless network, most of them know me well enough now I suppose." John gave her a brisk smile and grabbed his coat, he snatches a sketch of the rapist from the folder, then heads out.

"Alright, be careful, I'll tell Sherlock what he said if he comes back before you're home."

"Thanks!" John called as he rushed down the stairs. He knew this would take awhile, hopeful they knew, saw something. Considering that this happened two days ago, the trail was already starting to go cold, he wondered what the relationship between, Mycroft and the victim was, and why ask for Sherlock's help, and not just go to the local police look into it. Even if the victim is member of the royal family… These thoughts crawl around John's mind as he roams around the streets of London.


	2. Trauma

While John gathered information the homeless people Sherlock had unofficially employed for gathering and reporting clues, Mycroft went home and drank away the horrid memory, replaying over and over again in his mind palace. The holmes brothers' possessed extraordinary talents at reading their surroundings, solving puzzles, and creating a complex mind palace to store useful information. The unfortunate part of having a mind palace, was that when they became obsessed with a particular memory, the atmosphere and design of the mind palace changed. This heightened the fear, pain, and anger that they felt, but rarely expressed. The last place Mycroft needed to be was here, but he had little choice in the matter. He would not, could not let go of this particular memory, even though he desperately wanted it to stop. That night was not something he could forget.

 _Mycroft walked through the streets of London, drunk out of his mind. His plans only had he failed to take out a major organization, located in London that abducted and sold children every single child was brutally slaughtered. Someone, a weasel who has yet to be caught, had ratted out the planned invasion and thus the men running the horrendous child trafficking ring had gotten away. When the secret service and Mycroft showed up the children were already dead. Above the bodies on the far wall read the words._

 _Nice try Mycroft, better luck next time. Those words were written in the blood of a little boy, who startling looked a great deal like Mycroft had when he was a little boy._

 _The days events led Mycroft racing to a bottle of scotch at the club. He usually restrained himself, but in this instance he just couldn't stop. No one could blame him. Which is why at two o'clock in the morning he stumbled along the back alleys trying to find Sherlock's residence. Sherlock, although he rarely ever saw his brother in such a state, kept an extra pair of Mycroft's clothes, just in case Mycroft showed up. Mycroft was a few blocks away from 221B Baker Street when a group of men made their existance know by removing themselves from the shadows and approaching Mycroft. Mycroft looked up to see these thugs standing before him, one of them carried a bat. The one carrying the bat towered over Mycroft, he was at least a foot taller than mycroft. Mycroft stilled for a moment, he realized he was in danger. The other men moved closer slowly, Mycroft took a step back._

" _I am a member of government, step back and leave my presence and you will be spared." Mycroft attempted to sound cold and menacing but slurred his words, causing them to not be taken seriously. The men smirked, the one on the left of the bat wielder laughed._

" _Oh my we found ourselves a member of the government, I don't know about you two but I am not a big fan of the government." The man with sandy blonde hair, blue eyes stated as he looked over at the man standing next to him. Mycroft noticed the man was carrying a dark green bag._

 _The other man with greasy black hair and a spider tattoo on his neck replied to that statement." Me either, looks like the fella needs to be taken down a notch, too prideful. Oh wait, but if we don't leave his presence then we won't be spared. What in bloody hell does that mean? We should teach him a lesson."_

 _After hearing this Mycroft knew he was in serious danger, he went to reach for his umbrella when he realized it wasn't with him. He now reminders he left it behind when he payed for his drink. If he could reach for his cellphone he could use speed dial to get help, he reached into his pocket to retrieve his phone,however his action was noticed by the man with the bat, who promptly slam the bat into Mycroft abdomen._

 _Mycroft doubled over, before he could move to defend himself the man with the bat hit him again. Mycroft fell onto his back, the two other men advanced on him, on ripped his cellphone out of his pocket, while the other checked him for concealed weapons. Mycroft gasped trying to catch his breath, when he felt then hands of the men on him, he tried to fight them of, his efforts were met with a swift kick to his side. Mycroft groaned in pain. He tried to from words to intimidate these men but found none that would work. Usually he could talk himself out of most situations, but these men were brutal and not easily swayed. Mycroft attempted to stand, but the man with the greasy black hair kicked him again while the other began ripping off his shirt._

" _Stop fighting! Do you really want to make this worse for yourself? Besides it won't hurt that much is you just cooperate." All three of the men began to laugh, leaving Mycroft with a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach those words were indicating the worst act a human can perform on another. Mycroft heartbeat quickened and in panic he began to scream, but was quickly cut off by a large hand._

" _Can't have you waking the neighbours now can we?" The man with blonde hair used his free hand to locate duck tape inside the dark green bag. Mycroft attempted to scream again, but was unable to. Even though Mycroft could no longer call for help he continued to struggled, he thrashed, kicked, and scratched. His efforts were met with a punch to the face and groin._

" _Come on boys, we don't have all night. Flip him over." The man with the spider tattoo instructed. Those cold eyes met Mycroft's. Than man's eyes held no mercy._

The memory came to a halt. Mycroft leaped from his chair and bolted to the washroom to vomit. He gagged and vomited twice before he sank to the cold bathroom floor. Sweat dripped down his neck as he struggled to breathe. The iceman, who people believed to be unemotional, couldn't help but let tears fall down his face. He only cried when he was alone. As the tears flowed down his face and his shoulders began to shake, he prayed that Sherlock and John would catch those vile bastards, without finding out he was the victim.

The shame of that night was clawing at Mycroft's soul. He needed them to be caught, he couldn't live with them roaming the streets, but he did not want anyone to know.

He was alone.


End file.
